


I Meant Every Word

by spooky_nerd



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Arc Reactor, Arc Reactor Issues, BAMF Tony Stark, Clint Barton is a Gem, Getting Together, Hurt Tony, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Missions, Missions Gone Wrong, Protective Steve Rogers, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, gotta love these tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-15 12:09:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19295458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spooky_nerd/pseuds/spooky_nerd
Summary: When Tony gets injured on a mission, hidden feelings are dragged out into the open.





	I Meant Every Word

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, this is not timeline accurate or canon-compliant at all, just fyi. But Peter Parker is adorable and I wanted to include him. Also Tony Stark is a BAMF in this. You've been warned.

The gym is empty in the small hours of the night. It is a stillness that is not entirely unpleasant, and if he'd allow himself to enjoy a rare moment of honest self-reflection, he'd probably realize he prefers it that way anyway. What he does here is a vulnerable thing, and he'd rather not have an audience while he bears his raw, naked soul.

He goes as hard as he possibly can for the better part of an hour, enjoying the feeling of pushing his body to its absolute limits, drinking in the sound of his fists landing with quick, satisfying thuds that reverberate throughout the empty room. And just when he feels his arms are about to give out, he goes harder, feeling the sting of his knuckles, the drop of sweat slowly sliding down the middle of his back, the strain of his lungs as he forces air in and out with every punch. His hair, drenched with sweat, hangs in his face. His legs begin to shake, and fire is slowly spreading through his arms and back, but he grits his teeth and keeps going, pouring out all of the pent-up frustration and anger that he's been carrying around for days now, or maybe years.

He loses track of the time, but eventually he can no longer hold himself up. He lands one last punch and his right knee buckles, hitting the padded floor with a thud. The bag swings wildly behind him, and for several long minutes, the only sound is his heavy breathing, and metallic squeak of the hanging chain. His hands tingle and ache in the gloves and he needs them off _now,_ so he yanks them off, tossing them roughly to the side and bracing himself against the floor with a shaking hand. He closes his eyes and bows his head, kneeling and soaking in the pain and allowing the sound of his breathing to fill his mind until there is nothing else. It's the closest thing he ever gets to a religious experience, and he revels in it. He is still panting when a voice cuts through the quiet.

"Impressive, Stark."

Natasha.

He doesn't have the strength or mental wherewithal for a snarky comment. She gazes inscrutably at him as he pulls himself up to lean back on his knees, head tilted towards the ceiling. A drop of sweat trails lazily down his neck to his clavicle, and a satisfying warmth is buzzing beneath his skin. He drinks it all in greedily, because lately, he has an insatiable thirst for something, he doesn't know quite what, and this is the only thing that ever seems to come close to quenching it.

"Any particular reason you're beating the shit out of our punching bags at 3 a.m.?" Nat asks, punching a hole through his transcendent bubble of solitude and dragging him back into the present moment.

He cracks an eye open and looks at her through dark lashes, doing his best not to show that he's just a tiny bit offended by the intrusion. "Gotta get it in sometime."

She doesn't acknowledge the dodged question and he maintains his position until there is movement to his right and she sits down next to him on the mat. He finally turns to see her fully then. She is dressed similar to him, in sweatpants and a t-shirt. The gym is lit by a single central light, and the arc reactor casts an eery pale glow across her face in the dimness. They sit in silence and his heart beats too loud in his ears, in the quiet of the room. After a time it slows to a normal rate, and she speaks again as if she'd been listening, counting out the beats and measuring the moment for the right time to say her piece.

"What's wrong, Tony? You haven't been yourself lately."

It's so honest and devoid of the whit and snark that characterizes their usual back-and-forth that it takes him a moment to even register that it's genuine. Her face is, to his horror, openly concerned, and that makes something hurt in his chest, so he looks away, busies himself with absentmindedly picking at a seam in the floor mat as he turns the question over in his mind.

"Oh, I don't know. I'm painfully sober, just broke up with my girlfriend, running the largest tech company in the world, and I live with 5 crazy people whom I regularly save the world with and who could kill me without a second thought."

She recognizes the insincerity in that last statement. "Yeah, but you love us anyway."

And finally she pulls a chuckle out of him. But it's there and then it's gone, like he seems to be lately. She watches carefully as some painful thought hooks him in and the glimmer of mirth fades from his eyes. "Is that it, Tony?"

He bows his head and doesn't speak. She places a hand on his head and lets it slide down to his neck. Her fingers are cold. He fights the urge to shiver.

 

* * *

The Hydra base was small enough to seem almost inconsequential. Just a tiny outcropping on the side of a mountain, practically an afterthought, and from the air it had hardly been visible amid the grey, craggy peaks that pierced the opaque clouds that blanketed the bruised sky. And it was supposed to be an easy run, was the thing. It was Friday, and they'd been cutting up on the descent, already entertaining visions of their anticipated night off. To Bruce this was a cup of darjeeling and a good book. Fridays were for pleasure reading, so it would probably be something in the way of Dawkins or Zimmer. To Thor this was date night with Jane. To the Frick and Frack, the incredible assassin duo, this was sparring, then drinking, then passing out in their rooms, exhausted from that unholy combination. To Tony, lately, it was dinner and a movie with Steve. Because somewhere between the defensive posturing and the nearly biting one another's heads off, they'd discovered that they could actually stand each others' company for a reasonable stretch of time.

But one thing that had never entered their minds: Hydra coming up with a new (and actually formidable) weapon.

Tony saw Steve go down first, and that's never an easy thing. Every time, it was like watching his childhood hero fall in battle. Then Nat and then Clint, and now he could practically feel it coming for him, breathing down his neck, making the soft skin there tingle with dreaded anticipation. Then there was a small thunk near his abdomen and his HUD went dark and the suit became dead weight and he was plummeting toward ground at terminal velocity in the dead shell of his armor. And with no HUD and no J.A.R.V.I.S., the suit was just a metal coffin.

Sometimes, the present moment slips away from him, and in its place, a cold, numb nightmare takes shape. For those moments that he plummeted, he could see New York below him, disappearing rapidly as the deep darkness of space closed in around it, around him.

Then, he hit the ground, and reality dropped back down on him, or he dropped back down onto it, and boy did reality pack a punch. He'd clawed his way out of the armor, gasping in grateful breaths, his body screaming at him from several large welts and bruises, and then he'd taken in the scene around him. One of the Hydra agents had a gun aimed at Steve's head, and Tony made the call then and there. The team was down, he had no suit, but he did have one thing at his disposal. So he'd overloaded the arc reactor.

It wasn't completely likely to kill him. But there was always that chance. And what other choice did he have? It was his team, his call. So made a few hazardous, ill-advised adjustments that no one would have let him make if they'd known, and the heat from the resulting energy beam ripped through him, cut him right down the middle. His body was on fire, but he managed to aim well enough to take down the remaining Hydra agents. At least he was pretty sure he did; he may have blacked out for a few minutes.

When he came to again, he was lying on his back, shivering in the snow as the chill slowly melted its way through his undersuit. His fingers ached with cold and his lips and face stung as the frigid breeze whipped unforgivingly over him, stealing his breath away with it. Someone was resting a hand on the arc reactor and calling his name. The hand was warm. The voice was panicked.

Steve.

Tony had opened his eyes and promptly turned over to throw up. Large warm hands steadied him, kept him from falling on his face, and if he wasn't half out of it with the pain and the nearly dying, he could've sworn he'd felt a thumb rubbing soothingly across his side, bumping along the ribs there, keeping him tethered to the world.

He'd tried to wave away the help with a sarcastic comment, but his hands were shaking and he only knew this by looking at them because he couldn't even feel them anymore. And that had undercut his bravado just a bit.

Steve insisted on supporting him for the walk back to the Quinjet, because Steve, damn him, was still Captain America even after the mission was over. And that was the truly maddening part about him. Because it would have been so much easier if he could've just hated Steve like he'd wanted to. But instead Steve had grabbed his cold, numb hands and hoisted him up off the ground and Tony had bit a sore into the side of his mouth to keep from yelping as his entire body protested, but he had been _glad_ that Steve was there.

Steve slid an arm around his middle, squeezing firmly but gently, muttering encouraging words to him as they trudged a path through the snow, his words condensing into thick clouds above their heads. He'd tried his best, but his chest was a burning, aching abscess and Steve had ended up taking most of his weight, which was fine because Steve could handle it, could handle anything life threw at him if it meant his friends would be safe as a result.

"You're doing great. We're almost there." It was something he might've said at a hundred training sessions, but it was different, because the words were soft and gentle and definitely edging on sentimental. And Tony's chest was about to explode, but all he'd wanted to do was lean into those words, feel that warm breath across his cheek. He had too much pride to ever do that, but the fantasy had been a welcome distraction from the pain and the cold.

He may have stumbled once, and Steve may have gripped him tighter then and told him softly but surely, "I've got you." It was all a bit of a blur.

Steve had sat next to his cot the entire flight home, one warm hand fitted to his knee, keeping him anchored as he struggled to breathe without letting the pain show on his face. Then Steve had grabbed one of Tony's hands and rubbed it between his large, warm ones until the feeling returned, and then did the same to the other one, and Tony, in his shock, had sat quietly and let it happen. He and Steve were close now, yes, but this was something different and his brain, in the moment, could not process it.

Clint had fished a thermal blanket out from somewhere and Steve had tucked it around Tony, who was trying too hard not to be sick to protest. And after that, Steve had sat on the end of the cot, back against the wall, with a hand on Tony's ankle. He probably hadn't noticed that his thumb was rubbing absently against it. Tony had, though, and that soothing back-and-forth combined with the warmth of the thermal blanket had felt incredible amid the pain in his chest, and after that he'd closed his eyes and let time and space slip away from him.

When they'd landed back at S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, Steve had woken him, and he'd felt remarkably better. Still, everyone had insisted that he get checked out by a S.H.I.E.L.D medical team immediately. Even though he knew that the reactor was fine; he built it after all. He was given a clean bill of health and a bottle of generic painkillers for his trouble, and he'd even made it out in time to catch the tail end of the debrief. Yay.

Fury was there in all his trench-coated glory, making quite a display of himself, pacing a straight line across the floor with military precision. "Stark, I heard you saved the team today. Well done. But don't do anything like that again, please. We'd like you around for the long haul." And with that, he'd left them, coattails flapping around the corner, gone before his words could even be fully processed.

Steve had been glaring angstily at something in the middle distance throughout the debriefing like he was in one of those old black-and-white soaps Tony's mother had used to watch on Saturday afternoons. When Fury had left, he'd crossed his arms over his chest and turned the glare in Tony's direction. "That was reckless, Stark."

Tony had stared at him in momentary shock, reeling from the sudden change those words brought to the room. Nat and Clint had gone stock-still and Bruce had sunk impossibly lower in his chair. _God, he's gonna give me whiplash with the mood swings,_ Tony had thought. "Well, **_Rogers_** , it was kind of my only option," he had said, in a tone that carried with it a very clear warning. Because Tony Stark can give as good as he gets, goddamnit, and it didn't hurt at all that Steve was giving him the cold shoulder after he'd nearly died saving Steve's ass. It didn't.

Steve hadn't used his last name in awhile. And  _that_ had ignited an unexpected spark of anger in him, because it had actually stung. "You think I wanted to blow myself up? I did what I had to do." He hates how defensive and hurt the words sound once he lays them out on the table for everyone in the room to hear.

"You acted irrationally and almost got yourself _**killed**_. I told you to stay back and you disobeyed a direct order-"

"Yeah, and if I hadn't, the whole team would've been dead! This isn't the military, Steve. We're Avengers. We do what we have to do to save the day. So forgive me if I chose to ignore a bad call so I could save your sorry ass, and excuse me if I don't want to sit around and listen to any more of your pious bullshit."

It had been a week since Tony walked out of that meeting and a week since they had last spoken. And it was all fine, really it was.

 

* * *

"Something's wrong with Tony."

She watches as Bruce takes off his glasses and carefully places them on top of the pile of research he's been working through at the rate of a slow crawl for the past 3 hours. Something about stem cell growth that she will no doubt have to feign interest in later. He looks up at her steadily, calculating. It's the same face he reserves for a particularly dense piece of scientific literature. Everything he does is careful and measured and probably, somehow, empirically researched and peer reviewed. So different from his impulsive, destructive alter-ego, she thinks.

The Hulk is blind, burning rage. Bruce is warm and soft and different from anyone else she's ever met, in the best way. 

"Like physically wrong?" Bruce asks, and Nat rolls her eyes.

"No, Bruce. You haven't noticed he's been acting ... different ... lately?"

He spaces out for a moment, probably cataloguing his recent interactions with Tony. They're probably all color-coded and key-worded up there in his strange, brilliant head, she thinks. "I mean, I guess he's been a little quiet lately. It's out of character, but I guess I just figured he was upset about Pepper."

She shakes her head. "It's something else," she insists, then edges back a little. "I don't know."

"Have you talked to him?" Bruce, always good and practical and empirical.

She sighs and leans back against the table, careful not to disturb the research. "I tried. Found him boxing in the gym at 3 this morning. He was going so hard I thought he was gonna break my favorite heavy bag."

She expects Bruce to laugh but he frowns up at her instead. His eyes hold unspoken thoughts, and she waits quietly while he forms them into words. "I saw him doing the same thing the day before. Huh. If you're worried about it, maybe you could get Steve to talk to him. Tony listens to Steve."

Bruce puts his glasses back on as if that should be the end of it. And normally, it would be. Because Tony _does_ listen to Steve, is the thing. As much as he tries to pretend that he doesn't, he respects Steve. And Steve respects Tony. They fight like fiends, but when they work together, they're _unstoppable_ , and that strange dichotomy at the crux of their relationship makes her head spin sometimes.

She shakes her head, lips quirking humorlessly. "They've been avoiding each other. I don't think they've spoken since Slovakia."

The glasses come back off, quickly this time. "Really? That was like a week ago. I mean, they fight, sure, but they usually make up pretty quick."

"Yeah."

"...Nat, it's Tony. I'm sure he'll be fine."

 

* * *

His hands are shaking too much and he's forced to put down the drill. 

"Fuck," he whispers, slamming his hand down on the work bench. Pain shoots up his arm and it feels cathartic because it's a different pain from the nagging aching burning that has nearly consumed him for the past few days. _God,_ he could use a drink. He glances down at his hands and finds himself looking straight into the eyes of the Spider-Man suit he's been repairing. The shame hits him like a punch in the stomach and he forces himself to be fine.

The kid comes in later to pick up the suit, and something in him feels a little lighter when he sees him.

“Hey, Mr. Stark!” he says, chipper as always.

Tony gives the best approximation of a smile that he can muster up, which is, distressingly, uncharacteristically subdued. He walks toward Peter, grabbing up a rag to wipe the grease from his hands. “Hey kid.”

He flips the rag over his shoulder and cants his head towards the suit. “So the suit really took a beating. Internal wiring was all fried. I had to do a complete overhaul.”

Peter grimaces. “Sorry Mr. Stark. I got that feeling, you know, when I sense trouble and I followed this black van to this creepy warehouse and these guys had these crazy sticks like in that old movie with the guys in suits and everybody’s an alien and they push a button and it zaps everybody’s memories -“

”...Men in Black?”

”Yeah that’s the one! And these sticks shot out these weird discs from all sides and one hit me and like electrocuted me and the suit kinda just went dark.”

Tony narrows his eyes and Peter takes a step back, mistranslating it as anger. “I’m sorry Mr. Stark, if I knew that woulda happened I wouldn’t’ve gone in there like that. I'm so grateful for the suit and I try to take really good care of it and I would _never_ -“

Tony holds up a placating hand. “Woah, kid ease up. I’m not mad. Those discs you were talking about; I’ve seen them before. It’s Hydra tech. Now what happened with these guys you were tailing?”

“Oh phew ok I’m glad you’re not mad... Wait hold on did you say Hydra?? Like the Nazis?”

”Yep, the same.”

”Wow I thought Captain America killed all those guys in World War II or something.”

Tony hands him a wry smile for that one. “Not quite. Hydra’s still kicking. That tech took down Captain America; it’s nasty stuff. So these guys you tailed ... did they seem like evil Nazis?”

Peter shakes his head adamantly. “No sir, they were just local gangbangers. I've seen 'em before. Once the suit went down I pulled down this heavy beam to block the exit and then I just called the cops."

"Okay, first off, good job calling the cops. Smart move. And second, 'gangbangers', really? Who taught you that word?"

"Uhh..."

"You know what, we'll address that later. The important thing here is that Hydra is distributing weapons. We just need to figure out why."

He motions toward the suit. "You did good, kid. Grab the suit."

Peter opens his mouth, but Tony cuts him off. "Oh, and, I guess I need to ask. Are you ... doing okay? Like, are you ... keeping up your grades and all that, staying away from wild parties, basically avoiding everything I would have done when I was your age?"

Peter's mouth had fallen open. He snaps it shut once he recovers. "Uh, yeah. I'm doing pretty good I guess. I'm making good grades and everything, but Calculus is kind of killing me right now. And no parties; I'm too busy. And ... I don't have enough friends."

Tony nods. "Good, good," he mutters distractedly. Then, "Uh, you need any help ... with the calculus?" he asks, gesturing towards the backpack slung haphazardly over Peter's shoulder.

Peter hesitates. "Actually yeah, there is this one inverse trig function that's kind of tricky."

"Ooh I love inverse functions, gimme."

* * *

They spend 10 minutes on the homework, and Tony explains the various "cool" applications of trigonometry to the kid, who looks at Tony the whole time like he's hung the moon, and it makes something ache in Tony's chest. He clears his throat and clears the holo table they've been using to graph functions. "Alright, kid I think we did some good work here. You feel good about that quiz now?"

Peter smiles, and it's a bright shiny thing that Tony feels very undeserving of. "Yes sir, thank you Mr. Stark." He grabs up his book bag and the suit and jogs for the door. "And thanks for fixing my suit!"

"No problem, kid," he calls after him. "Hey, take care of that thing! It costs more than your entire vintage Star Wars action figure collection!"

"Hey, how'd you know about that?" Peter yells from the door. And then Nat is there and Peter's climbing the walls to avoid a crash collision with her. "Hey Ms. Widow, 'scuse me, sorry ma'am!" he yells as he crawls around her and hops to the ground, running for the exit.

Tony chuckles at the look on Nat's face. "So, one spider to another, what do you think of the kid?" he asks.

The look she gives him is sharper than a knife, but it carries no real heat. "He's a little green, but he's got heart," she says.

Tony smiles fondly. "He's a good kid. He'll make a great avenger some day, if that's what he wants."

"Is that what _you_ want?"

His smile wavers and falls completely. He tries to replace it with one of his blithe grins that he reserves for the press, but Nat's watching him with that x-ray gaze of hers, surely looking right into his soul, and he realizes that it won't do him any good to lie. "No."

"Why did you choose him, then?"

Tony sighs and rubs a hand tiredly across his face as he suddenly feels centuries worth of weariness set upon his shoulders. "He's got great potential. He's smart. He never backs down from a fight. And crime in Queens has dropped dramatically since he became active."

"So what's the problem?"

"I care about him too much." Tony waits for a response, but it doesn't come. She's staring at him like she's seeing him for the first time, and maybe she is a little bit, he thinks.

"Caring hurts for people like us, but it's better than the alternative."

He can't look up at her. It feels like too significant a moment, and he doesn't want to give himself away any more than he already has. A muscle twitches in his jaw. Involuntary. Telling. "Which is what?" he asks.

"Being alone."

He knows she's right. He's tried being alone, he's tried pushing away the people he loves to keep them safe. It never goes well. He nods. If he were a bigger man, he might be able to meet her gaze.

She must sense the inner turmoil, and he thinks she must have a little spidey sense herself, because she puts a hand on his knee and kneels down in front of the stool where he sits so she can look up at him. "Before you start blaming yourself, it sounds like he was already pretty active before you found him. You didn't force him into the fight; you just gave him the right tools."

Tony nods, but she wonders if he's there with her or a thousand miles away like he sometimes is. Thinking about the ones he's already lost.

"He'll be okay, Tony. You can't protect everyone all the time."

And that's the problem, isn't it?

* * *

She sits with him for awhile, watching him work, marveling at the way his hands move, the intense concentration, the intense energy that pours off of him in concentrated waves, like the Hadron on steroids. He usually works with music. Deafening, heavy rock music, enough to drown out the ghosts of painful memories and the self-hate and the guilt that hounds him constantly. But tonight he works quietly, and she thinks maybe he senses she didn't just come down to watch him working on the schematics for Clint's new electromagnetic arrows.

That had all started when Tony had made a remark during a recent fight when Clint had run out of arrows and had been forced to retrace his steps around the battlefield, pulling them out of the bodies of Hydra agents he'd already shot. And really, Tony had been warranted in his mockery, because Clint had looked absolutely ridiculous.

"Well, why don't you make me some that come back to me, Mr. Genius," Clint had bit back in response.

"Alright, sure," Tony had replied, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Nat smiles at the memory of Clint's stunned silence over the comms.

She shakes herself from her recollections when she realizes that Tony has been quiet for several minutes. She looks up, and he is perched on a stool across the room, eyes unfocused, staring at an undefined spot on the floor somewhere in front of him. 

"Tony, when was the last time you got any sleep?"

He jumps, only slightly, when her voice suddenly fills the quiet room. Just a minute twitch of his bicep and shoulder, but she catches it nonetheless. He blinks rapidly and looks up at her, swaying slightly. "Uh, define sleep."

She rolls her eyes but places a hand on his shoulder. "Why don't you come have dinner with us and then go to bed?"

He's already shaking his head before she even finishes. "Thanks for the offer, but I've got things to do here -"

"-and Steve will be there," she finishes.

His eyes go wide and he straightens unconsciously from his slouched position on the stool. "Uh, what? No, that's not why-"

"Come on, Tony. I know you're avoiding him. He knows it too. He hasn't been himself lately. I think he's pining. It's all very dramatic," she says with a slight roll of her eyes that he misses because he has suddenly become very interested in a grease stain on his tank. 

"Just come eat with us. You don't have to have some deep heart-to-heart with him. Just ... come be civil. We miss you when you're not there. And it makes the kids anxious when mom and dad fight."

She swears she sees a hint of pink flit across the high points of his cheeks at that. He worries his lip and nods down at the grease stain. She squeezes his shoulder briefly and then heads to the door. "And take a shower, Stark," she adds. "You smell like a grease pit."

He chuckles despite himself and thinks he may just like the crazy, smart assassin who lives in his tower.

 

* * *

When Tony steps into the kitchen, all conversation stutters to a halt for half a moment, and then in an active effort to conceal the initial shock, continues even louder than before. The only one who does not grasp desperately at a loose thread of conversation again is Steve. He lets his eyes take in the man who's been avoiding him for a week. Tony sports freshly showered hair and is wearing a henley tee with a comfortable pair of jeans. The arc reactor glows through the fabric in the shirt. The memory of Tony laid out in the snow, the arc reactor lying dead in his chest, comes back to him in full force and he averts his eyes down to the table. He traces the grain pattern of the wood as Nat removes herself from the table and joins Tony in the kitchen.

"What are Earth's mightiest heroes eating tonight?" he hears Tony ask.

"We made lasagna, but it's not as good as yours," Natasha answers.

"Ah, well when your grandmother is a fierce Italian woman, you learn to make good lasagna for fear of your own life." Tony smiles brilliantly at Nat and Steve feels an unpleasant pull in his gut that he doesn't quite understand.

Nat passes him a plate. "Grazie mia cara," he says and she elbows him playfully.

Tony takes a seat between Nat and Bruce, nearly directly across the table from Steve, who makes every effort to avoid looking like a wounded animal when he meets Tony's gaze. Something passes between them for a moment that makes the hair on the back of Steve's neck stand up before Tony gives him a small nod and looks down at his plate.

Dinner passes without further incident. Tony tells Clint in detail about the new arrows and Clint, who loves new tech more than life itself hangs on every word. Bruce, predictably, pulls Nat into a discussion about stem cell growth and Nat ends up finding it interesting enough because it's Bruce. Steve makes occasional conversation but most of what he wants to say sticks in his throat for some reason he can't identify.

Later, Bruce says, "Oh, hey Tony I saw the kid earlier," and Tony looks up, startled, when the comment knocks over a memory.

He mentally curses himself for forgetting. _Maybe Nat's right; I do need sleep_ , he thinks. "Shit, that's right. The kid had a run-in with a gang out in Queens. They were armed with that Hydra EMP tech we got a dose of last week. Completely fried his suit."

A tense silence seeps into the air, and Steve's super-hearing tells him that everyone is holding their breath. "Hydra is distributing weapons? Why?" he asks.

Tony regards him silently for a moment and Steve wonders for half a moment if their argument is about to reemerge. "That's the question. Hydra's not known for playing nice with other baddies. So why now? And why that tech in particular?"

"It's pretty powerful tech. It was strong enough to bring down Cap and short out the Iron Man suit," Bruce says, and when Tony hazards a glance at Steve, his eyes are resolutely glued to the table.

"Maybe it's some kind of field test. Working out the bugs," Tony says. "Think about the implications of those things if they're enhanced. You could level a power grid with a strong enough directional EMP blast. You could stop someone's heart. You could take down a city." He pauses as his own words sink in. "We need put a stop to this before it goes too far." 

* * *

When dinner ends, everyone files off to bed. Nat pats his back gently as she passes him. "Go to bed, Stark. Don't make me choke you 'til you pass out."

"Aww, so sweet. Natasha, honey, you're too good to me," he calls after her. The comment earns him a wicked chuckle from Clint.

Despite the threat, his entire body thrums with nervous energy, and so when the common area has cleared, he steps outside on the balcony and plants himself tiredly on a couch, prepared for another night of waiting futilely for sleep. 

"You know, Nat was probably serious about that threat." A voice snaps him out of his daze and he suddenly feels hot and cold all at once because he knows that voice and now, with exhaustion pulling at every thread threatening to unravel him completely, his defenses are down. He's not ready for this.

"Well, I'm known for being a bit of a masochist," he answers, and his throat feels agonizingly tight. He does not turn towards the voice, afraid that he will give himself away.

The quiet over-pressurizes the room until he feels like his head will explode. And then a polite request. "May I sit?"

He scoots over wordlessly, and Steve settles in beside him. He can feel the warmth and safety that the man exudes and the comfort of it threatens to pull him in. In his weariness, he practically aches for it, and he absolutely hates that.

"Tony, I don't wanna fight with you." Tony looks down at his hands but doesn't answer. It's dark outside, and he knows that the arc reactor lights up his face, betraying his emotions like he's got his heart on his damn sleeve.

"You saved my life in Slovakia, you saved all of us, and all I did was yell at you. It wasn't fair and I'm sorry. I just ... I don't want to lose anyone else. And when that EMP hit you, you went down hard. Then, that thing you did with the reactor. It went out for a few seconds. I thought you were dead."

Steve's words sink deep, warming something in his chest that had been cold for a week. He nods carefully. "The arc short-circuited. Had to reboot," he says softly.

Steve nods. His shoulders are hunched so much it looks like his chest is caving in. When Tony can't stand it anymore, he says, "I forgive you."

Steve looks up at him, eyes solemn and trusting. For some reason, that earnest gaze pulls more words out of Tony than he thought he had. "And I'm sorry, too. I was kind of a dick at the debrief. Well, more of a dick than usual."

Steve laughs and Tony knows they're okay now.

They sit for a long time in comfortable silence, staring out at the Midtown skyline. It's peaceful and good in a way that he never gets to experience, and Tony doesn't realize he's fallen asleep until he's being shaken awake by warm hands.

"Tony," Steve says gently. "You don't wanna sleep here all night. Come on."

His head jerks up from where it had been resting, embarrassingly, on Steve's shoulder. "Shit, sorry." He rubs his face and hears Steve say, "It's okay" and he thinks he hears a smile in between the words.

They both trail tiredly inside and now all he can think about is his bed, but he turns back around anyway to give Steve a nod. "Night, Steve."

"G'night, Tony."

 * * *

He sleeps a grand total of 5 hours and wakes up feeling significantly more human than he has in the past few days. But it's only 5:30 and his mind is already starting to race in anticipation of the day, so he heads to the gym.

His face must betray his surprise when he finds Nat already there, sitting on a bench against the wall, lacing up her trainers, because she laughs. It's warm and whole and eases the tension that grabs at his shoulders by just a little bit. "What, I work out too," she says in a playfully defensive tone.

Devoid of a comeback, he merely nods and and pulls off his sweatshirt.

He warms up on the jumprope and speed ball and then heads for his favorite heavy duty hanging bag. He is about to put his earbuds in and drown out the world when Nat clears her throat from the vicinity of the ring. He looks over, and there she stands in the center, arms crossed, waiting.

"Well, Stark? You gonna leave a girl hanging?"

He grins crookedly. "You know me better than that."

 

* * *

They spar lightly back and forth for several minutes, trading jabs and dodges. When Nat sees that he's keeping pace with her, she raises the intensity, sending a swift kick to his side, which he blocks, using her momentum to twist her leg and and bring her to the ground. She looks up at him with a smile, and he extends a hand.

"You've been practicing," she says.

He shrugs. "Maybe a little."

They spar for a long time, and he's ultimately no match for Nat, because it's Nat, but the session ends with both of them grinning widely. The scent of their sweat fills up the room, and it's not unpleasant. It's rewarding, and he feels lighter when they finally step out of the ring, like he's at least left some of his tension on the mat.

"You're getting good, you know. I'd love to see you try some of those moves on Clint," she says.

He inclines his head bashfully, and she thinks it's a good look on Tony Stark. "He'd probably try to stab me with an arrow in my sleep," he mutters.

Surprisingly, she finds herself patting him on the back. And even more surprisingly, he lets her. "Come on, let's grab breakfast, I'm starving."

 

* * *

Clint is already awake, sitting up on the counter, eating a bowl of cereal. He takes in Tony's appearance and gives a loose imitation of a cat-call. "Ow ow, Tony Stark, rocking the muscle tee!"

Tony grins, because style is fleeting but Judas Priest is _forever_. "Spring break 1989, baby."

"Oh, yeah."

Tony feels another pair of eyes on him and turns to see Steve seated at the breakfast table, staring a hole through him. Tony smiles and it seems to snap Steve out of whatever reverie he was engaged in. He smiles back. "You two spar this morning?" he asks.

Nat nods. "Yep. Tony's got some new moves."

Steve could swear he sees Tony blush, but he's probably just flushed from the workout, Steve reasons like a reasonable person. "Really? I'd love to see them sometime."

Clint snickers to himself and he gets the feeling he's missed some inside joke when Nat fixes Clint with a glare that could kill. Clint recovers immediately and asks, "Anyone heard from S.H.I.E.L.D about the Hydra situation?"

Everyone's eyes flit back and forth between Tony and Steve, who both shake their heads. "If we don't hear something soon, I say we take matters into our own hands," Tony says.

Clint and Nat nod and Tony regards Steve carefully. "I agree," he says. Tony looks slightly relieved instead of disappointed that there is no fight, and it strikes Steve again how uncharacteristically quiet he has been lately.

Steve lingers in the kitchen after Nat and Clint head off somewhere, he doesn't ask. Tony is tinkering with the heating coils in the coffee pot. He'd been more than a little miffed when it had given him cold coffee with breakfast.

"Just make it an iced coffee, Stark," Clint had suggested, to which Tony had looked at him in horror.

"Iced coffee is the single worst invention in Earth history, Barton."

They began talking over one another at that point, but Steve made out a few things, like "oh really the single worst-" and "how could you even  _suggest-"_ and his favorite: "you birdbrained hipster". They'd broken off the argument after that when Steve's loud laughter suddenly cut through the conversation. Clint had been miffed but Tony had looked mildly pleased at having drawn a laugh out of the most serious person in the room.

He approaches Tony cautiously now, still feeling strangely insecure, because lately, getting too close to Tony does strange things to him. "What's the verdict?" he asks quietly, lest Tony get upset at the intrusion.

To his relief, Tony looks up at him with a neutral expression. "Oh, the heating coil just popped out." He replaces the cover on the back of the coffee pot. "Should be fine now," he says contentedly.

Steve notices when he places the coffee pot back that his hands, now devoid of work, are shaking minutely. Tony seems to notice it too, and he crosses his arms self-consciously.

Steve eyes him carefully, trying to keep the concern out of his eyes because he knows that Tony hates being babied. "You get enough sleep last night?"

Tony nods. "Yeah, I did, I'm fine," he says quickly and a little too breathily. "What about you?"

Steve nods, swallowing the discomfort that's creeping up into his throat. "Yeah, I did too."

Tony scratches the back of his neck, avoiding Steve's gaze once again, and Steve suddenly feels desperate because after the week he's had he can't take another minute of awkward silence with Tony.

"You okay, Tony?" he asks.

Tony lets his eyes slide closed and there's so much weariness there that Steve has to fight the urge to fidget guiltily for having asked.

"You and Nat tag-teaming me or something?" Tony asks with a sigh.

"What? No, I just ... have noticed that you're not yourself lately."

Tony nods. "You know, I don't even think I know what 'being myself' means anymore," he says. 

"I know what that's like," he says, praying it's the right thing to say, and when Tony smiles just a little he relaxes.

"Yeah, I know you do. Going from underdog to super-soldier in one day must've made for quite the identity crisis." Tony is walking to the couch and Steve follows, inexplicably pulled in by him.

"It did, at first" Steve says with a nod. "But change is part of life. We all change, but that doesn't mean we have to lose ourselves along the way. You've changed a lot since I first met you, Tony - all in good ways - but you're still you."

Tony nods but still won't look at Steve and Steve thinks he doesn't like this new habit of avoiding eye contact. With nothing else to focus on, his gaze drifts to Tony's trembling hands, and something finally slides into place.  _Oh,_ he thinks, and then asks "How long have you been sober?"

Tony tenses up. "How-"

"Your hands."

Tony nods. "Two weeks. It was an unhealthy coping mechanism and I just ... realized I needed to find better ways to cope that wouldn't inevitably end in liver failure."

"That's good, Tony. Have you talked to anyone about it?"

"Yeah, I'm talking to you right now."

Steve sighs. "You know what I mean."

"... No."

"Do you want to?"

"No."

Steve decides not to push it. "Okay. But you know you can talk to me, right Tony? About anything."

Tony looks at him, and there's a pain hidden deep in those dark eyes that Steve can't place. "Yeah, thanks Steve."

 

* * *

He finds Nat and Clint in his office later, pouring over all of their existing Hydra data. "Find anything?" he asks.

"Nope, not a thing," Clint says, tossing an old file onto the desk with a bit more force than necessary. "We mainly came in here because we were hoping you'd talk to Tony." He gives a small yelp when Nat elbows him in the side. "What, what is wrong with what I just said? God, I don't understand your rules," he says through his teeth as he rubs at his side.

"I did talk to Tony. I'm worried about him," Steve says.

Nat nods knowingly. "Me too. He's withdrawing."

"Maybe he's just sad about Pepper," Clint says.

Nat sighs and mutters something exasperated and Russian under her breath. "That's not it. They ended on good terms, they see each other every day. It was Tony's choice to end the relationship, and it's been months! Something else is going on. Have you noticed he's stopped drinking?"

Steve nods thoughtfully. "It just hit me this morning when I saw his hands shaking."

"God, the man is so beautiful and mysterious and tortured, it's infuriating," Clint says. Natasha and Steve turn to him and Natasha looks ready for murder, but Clint merely shakes his head in dismay. "Bastard," he mutters and walks out of the room.

Steve's face feels too hot all of a sudden.

 

* * *

He sees Tony in the gym later that afternoon. He's wailing on the punching bag with a ferocity that Steve has rarely seen. He's wearing a time-softened, old t-shirt, this time with the name 'Aerosmith'. Steve makes a mental note to add it to his list. His eyes linger on the way it hugs Tony's arms and he feels his face turning red again, as well as a pang of frustration because he still doesn't know why.

"Didn't get enough this morning? Nat must be going soft," he says when he's recovered.

"Nah, I just needed to hit something," Tony grunts in response, not slowing down.

"Bad day?"

"The usual."

"... You wanna spar a little? Show me those new moves?"

Tony stops finally and regards him warily.

Steve holds his hands up. "I'll go easy."

Tony shakes his head but walks wordlessly to the ring anyway.

When they spar, Steve pulls his punches, but gives Tony the works otherwise. At one point, he sweeps Tony's legs and sends him down, but as he goes down, Tony locks his legs around Steve's and pulls him down right on top of him.

Steve lands with a grunt and Tony groans. "God, Rogers," he says with a pained chuckle. Steve eases off carefully to sit by Tony's hip, and finds himself laughing as well.

"You've really improved, Tony. I can tell you're putting in the time."

Tony sits up on his elbows with a grunt and crosses his legs. "Thanks. Punching things helps."

"When you feel like you want a drink."

Tony nods.

"And ... when other things are bothering you that you don't want to tell anyone about."

Tony freezes.

"We've worked together for awhile now. I can tell when something's bothering you. I just wish you'd talk to me is all. I respect that you have boundaries and some topics are off-limits, but ... we're friends, Tony. And I'd like to help if I can."

Tony is somewhere far away when he says that, and Steve feels a painful tug in his gut, wishing he could get through to him. Tony nods, his gaze finally coming back to the present. "Thanks, Rogers. I gotta go, I've got a meeting." And he pushes off the floor quickly, leaving Steve with those words hanging, unsatisfying, in the air. 

His frustration only grows when Tony uses his last name, because  _I thought we were past that._ He keeps his eyes on the retreating figure and is inexplicably drawn to the muscles in Tony's arms and back, which have grown more defined in the past few weeks. He realizes with a start what he was doing and it ignites an inexplicable spark of anger in him. He pushes up off the mat and and heads to the heavy-duty reinforced bags, itching to hit something. Hard.

 

* * *

Seeing Pepper always makes him a little brighter. That has not changed since they broke up. In fact, many things haven't changed. They still banter. She still rolls her eyes when Tony is being too ... Tony. They just aren't  _together_ anymore, and even though that had been his idea, she'd agreed with him that they just weren't compatible in the long term. 

After the meeting, she lingers in the conference room. "So, you look good," she says kindly.

He blinks owlishly at her. "Is this the part where we have breakup sex?" he asks innocently.

She rolls her eyes. "No. I just meant you look ... healthy. It's a good look on you and not one I've seen a lot."

"Aww, Pep you always say the sweetest things."

"I'm serious, Tony. I'm glad you're taking care of yourself. I'm glad you've got ... people in your life now."

"You mean more people. I always had you."

"Yeah, you did. You still do."

"Yeah. I know."

* * *

He heads to the shop after the end of the work day and loses all concept of time until Steve walks in and drags him upstairs to eat. The common room is empty and he turns to Steve questioningly.

"Bruce left for USC this morning for that stem cell talk."

"Damn, I forgot about that. I'll text him in the morning. What about Nat and Clint?"

"They're doing some field work."

Tony quirks his eyebrows up. "Indie contracting?" That's something they rarely engage in anymore.

"No. Just following up on a mission from a couple months ago."

"Oh ... okay."

"I ordered from that Indian place you like in the East Village."

"They deliver all the way out here?"

"When you're Tony Stark they do," Steve says with a smile.

Tony looks down with a grimace that Steve chooses to ignore.

"I thought we could rent a movie while we eat. You ever heard of Rocky?"

Tony looks up at him for a moment and then smiles. "It's a classic. Someone's trying to catch up with the times, I take it."

Steve shrugs. "Something like that."

They settle down on the couch for the movie. "You know, my dad took me to see this movie when it first came out. My mom thought I was too young, but Howard said if I was gonna grow up to be man, I needed to see how real men fight." He chuckles. "If he could only see me now."

Steve regards him carefully. "He'd be proud," he says. "I know you and your dad weren't very close, and I don't claim to know anything about Howard's later years, but he was a good man when I knew him."

Tony nods. "He admired you. Used to go off on these expeditions to search for you. He was convinced you were still out there somewhere." Tony shrugs. "He was right in the end. You were out there."  _If he could have only seen us, fighting together. Maybe I would've finally made him proud._

"He searched for me?"

Tony raises an eyebrow and inclines his head. "Would've thought you knew about that. He funded the recovery ops up until his death."

"I didn't know." Steve pauses, holding his breath, and for a moment he can hear Tony's heart beating. Then, "Was he a good father to you, Tony?"

Tony freezes up and Steve worries for a moment if he's crossed a line. To his surprise, Tony clears his throat and answers with difficulty. "Howard was a great man. But no. He wasn't a good father. My whole life, I never measured up. I started inventing early on. I was good. Better than him, I'd say. Not because I'm being egotistical, just because it was the truth. But nothing I ever made was good enough. And I was young and reckless, I screwed up sometimes. Got into some things I shouldn't have. I had this poster ... of you ... hanging on my wall as a kid. He gave it to me as a birthday present. And he used to point to it when I disappointed him and say 'That was the greatest man I've ever known. Do you think he ran around like a reckless screw-up? Get your life together, Stark, or you'll never amount to anything.'"

Steve is silent as the words sink in. After a moment, what Tony has said seems to wash over him and his eyes go wide. "Shit. That all just kind of came out. Sorry. Forget I said anything." He reaches for the remote, but Steve puts a hand on his arm. He feels the muscles tense up as Tony freezes with his fingertips touching the remote. 

"Tony, I didn't know. I'm sorry."

Tony is shaking his head. "Not your fault, Cap. I shouldn't have mentioned it. I don't know why-" He stops and drags a hand over his face. "I'm just-I'm tired. Can't trust my mouth when I'm tired."

"Don't apologize. I asked. I just ... I needed to know, because I remember him fondly, and it turns out I only saw one side of him. And God, Tony, the things I said to you when we first met, I was wrong. I misjudged you. I'm sorry."

"Come on, Steve. I was an ass. I was selfish. I'm still those things, but you guys ... make me want to be better."

"That was all inside you from the start, Tony. I knew that after the wormhole."

"Case in point. You make me want to be better."

It's such a sincere sentiment that it shocks Steve into silence. It ignites something soft and warm inside of him, and he finds that he resonates with the statement. "Likewise," he says.

Before Tony can answer, Steve pushes forward. "Howard was wrong, you know. I was a total screw-up as a kid. I got arrested for fighting pretty frequently. I always lost," he recalls with a smile. "I'd come home all beat up and my ma would already have an ice pack waiting for me because she always knew. I gave her a lot of grief, and I still feel guilty about it. The serum didn't change who I was on the inside. I still felt like a total failure after. I was doing USO shows and selling war bonds like some kind of trained monkey."

Tony snorts softly. "I know. I've seen the reels."

Steve's eyes widen. "I thought those were all destroyed."

Tony shrugs. "My dad had a private collection."

Steve groans. "So you know I'm telling the truth here. I was an embarrassment, Tony. I hated myself. I was hopeless. And even after I started going on missions, I still screwed up. I made bad calls here and there. Hell, I made a bad call last week. If you hadn't stepped in, we would've all been dead."

The silence stretches long and thin, and Steve fidgets with a couch pillow. "You're not a screw-up, Tony. We fight, but you're one of the greatest men I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. I mean that."

"Gee, Rogers, you sure know how to sweet-talk a fella."

Steve smiles. "Yeah, whatever. Let's watch this movie, Shellhead."

Tony gives a genuine bark of laughter at that. "You know I've never heard that one before."

Steve smiles and grabs the remote.

* * *

'Rocky' is, of course, excellent. Steve is so engrossed in it that he doesn't realize Tony has fallen asleep until he feels a light pressure on his shoulder and looks down to see Tony's forehead pressed against him. He stares in shock for a moment and fights the sudden urge to wrap an arm around Tony's shoulder and pull him in closer. What is _wrong with me,_ he thinks. He allows himself to stare unapologetically at Tony, now. He takes in the cut of his muscles through the fitted navy blue henley, the way he crosses his arms protectively over his chest while he sleeps, the glow of the arc reactor that cuts through the pattern of the fabric, the way it rises and falls gently as he breathes in and out.

It's at that moment that the realization hits him. His heart flips strangely in his chest and his breaths come in too shallow.  _Shit,_ he realizes.  _Shit shit shit._

_I think I love him._

His head falls back against the couch and he breathes in slowly, eyebrows knitted together tightly, wondering how this could have happened. How he had developed feelings for a man, and no less one he couldn't even stand when they first met. He looks down at Tony in case his sudden movements have woken him, but he sleeps on, completely oblivious to Steve's sudden crisis.

Before he can think too much about it, Steve pulls a blanket from the back of the couch and drapes it over them, because nothing can ever come of these feelings so at least he can have this one small thing.

For the rest of the movie, he feels the urge to run his fingers through Tony's hair, but he doesn't for fear of violating Tony's trust. When the credits roll, he remains seated for several minutes, strategizing about how best to wake up his friend, and how best to conceal the feelings he is afraid are all-too visible on his face.

He settles for calling his name. "Tony," he says quietly, gently raising up the shoulder Tony's head is leaning on. Tony's breath hitches a bit in his sleep but he doesn't respond otherwise.

"Tony, wake up," Steve says a bit louder. Tony inhales sharply at that and sits up.

"Hmm? What?" he slurs sleepily, running a hand over his face.

"Movie's over," Steve says.

"Oh." He seems to come awake fully now and looks over at Steve. "Shit, I fell asleep on you again, didn't I? Sorry, Steve. Next time just-" he waves a hand vaguely through the air. "-give me a shove or something."

Steve smiles. "It's okay. It didn't bother me."

Tony regards him carefully. "Well, I guess it is your fault for making such a good pillow."

Steve laughs. "Yeah, you're right. I brought this on myself."

Now Tony is smiling and Steve forces himself to look down before he does something he'll regret later. "I'm going to bed. You should too. I'm pretty sure Nat's threat to choke you unconscious still stands."

Tony chuckles, shaking his head as he stands up. "I'm pretty sure you're right. G'night, Cap."

"Night, Tony."

* * *

"You know, I'm a man of simple pleasures," Aaron Davis says. "Ben & Jerry's is one of them. And right now, I got a pint of Hunka Hulka Burning Fudge in the backseat that is melting as we speak. So please tell me, what have I done to deserve this again!"

The lenses of the Spiderman suit dilate, and Aaron could swear he looks slightly shamed.  _Well, good,_ he thinks.

"Look, man, I just need some information. There's stuff going down that could get real serious real fast if somebody doesn't step in."

Aaron does his best to look indignant with his hand webbed to his car door. "And what, you're the guy who's gonna step in?"

The spider puffs out his shoulders. "Maybe!" he challenges. Then, when Aaron continues to stare, he deflates a little and shrugs. "Well ... I'm ... one of the guys who's helping the guys who are gonna step in."

Aaron would never admit it, but he has a bit of a soft spot for kids. The spider reminds him of his nephew, young and optimistic. So he sighs and rubs his face with his free hand. "Alright, man, watchu got?"

"Okay, so there's this new tech out on the street, have you seen it? It's these discs that create some kind of electrical explosion when they're shot at people."

Aaron nods thoughtfully. "Yeah, I've seen them. Seen a couple of gangs with them. Like some kinda juiced up taser. I got hit with one a few days ago, and I went  _down._ Those things hurt like a motherf-" He stops himself when he sees the spider's eyes widen. "They're painful," he says. "They'll drop you like that," he says, snapping with his free hand.

The snap echoes through the parking garage, and for a moment they both just stare at one another. "...So do you know who's supplying the weapons?" 

He looks down for a moment, nodding to himself.  _Okay, so we're doing this._ Then he fixes the spider with burning eyes. "Yeah, I do."

* * *

He's been sleeping for a grand total of two hours when the shrill keen of his phone wakes him up with a visceral jolt that reverberates through his whole body. He groans and reaches blindly for the offending device. Peter Parker, the screen reads. The exhaustion ebbs away quickly. It's not like the kid to call at this hour. He grabs the phone.

"Kid?! What's wrong? Tell me you're not injured, and if you are, how bad is it?"

He's half asleep so the words may be a bit more unintelligible than he had planned.

"Hey, Mr. Stark! Uh, no I'm fine but I just had a conversation with a friend-"  _I ain't your friend, man!_ says an angry voice in the background. Peter sighs. "I just had a conversation with a  _guy_ who gave me the name of the Hydra supplier you were looking for."

He must be having a stroke. He blinks rapidly. "You ... what?"

"Yeah, uh, I kinda know a guy who kinda knows about weapons and stuff and he heard about the shock disc things and he knows who's been supplying them."

The buzzing in his head finally stops. "Okay, okay, good job kid, you did good. Just ... are you safe, right now? You're ... you're not injured?"

"Yeah, I'm fine! I'm a little hungry, I guess. But I'll probably just have some ice cream later. I've kinda got a craving."

The tension in his shoulders finally eases up and he heaves a sigh. "Okay, yeah, go get some ice cream, kid. You earned it. Try my new flavor. And for God's sake go to bed, it's a school night!"

"Okay, yes sir, Mr. Stark. Oh, and also did you want that name now?"

"Yeah, yeah, give me the name, kid."

"Okay, and just so you know, my friend told me a few other things."

* * *

"Stark, you better have a good reason for waking me up in the goddam middle of my REM cycle." Clint leans heavily against the wall nearest to the conference table.

"Okay, before anyone else has any negative comments about the inconvenience of the hour, I would like to remind you that we are Avengers. We  _assemble._ It's kind of our thing. Doesn't matter what time it is. So get over it."

Steve watches the exchange with a crooked smile and feels a swell of pride in his chest has he watches Tony lean over the conference table to berate the team. "Whaddaya got for us, Tony?" he asks.

They lock eyes and Tony nods. "Right. Spider kid called just a few minutes ago. He got us the name of Hydra's supplier." Tony presses a button and a hologram of a stone-faced woman with angry dark eyes pops up above the conference table.

"This is Camila Hamilton. She was a shield agent up until around 2012 when she drank the Hydra Kool-Aid. Now she develops weapons for Hydra. We've all met her newest creation. They pack a punch."

"Shock discs. I've been calling them shock discs," Clint interjects, looking pleased with himself.

Tony stares at him in disbelief for a moment. "Okay, great. Anyway, Hydra has been distributing them to sundry criminal organizations for the past few weeks. It's a great way to field test them and spread a little chaos at the same time. Word is, crazy lady here is working on some upgrades to these little fuckers that'll make them lethal. We're not sure how far along in production they are, but we need to stop it as soon as we can."

"You got a location on this person?" Clint asks.

"No, but we know how to contact her. I say we go undercover, set up a buy, then grab her."

Steve nods. "That's a good idea. We'll need to be careful, though. I'm sure Hydra's on high alert after last week."

"Clint and I will go undercover. We're the least conspicuous of everyone here," Nat says.

Tony and Steve both begin to object, but she silences them with a hand in the air. "You guys can be on call in case we need backup. We'll be fine. We're used to working together," she says with a smile in Clint's direction.

"Yeah, it'll be just like old times," Clint says, returning the smile.

* * *

"You couldn't have gotten us a bigger car?" Steve grunts, fidgeting with his seat to no avail. His knees are practically up to his chin in the compact car he and Tony are sitting in, parked a block away from the meeting site where Clint and Nat are located.

"Sorry, stringbean," Tony says without looking up from his phone. "We're going for inconspicuous here. That means nothing from my personal collection. If you're really uncomfortable you can go sit in the S.H.I.E.L.D van with all the interns."

"Who are you texting?" Steve asks, ignoring the suggestion.

"Bruce. He's in L.A. now. Got a tour of the labs today and he's giving his speech in the morning. He wanted to fly back tonight, but I convinced him that the Hulk isn't really ideal for a snatch n' grab--God Cap will you stop fidgeting?"

Steve looks up sheepishly, hands freezing where they've been pulling fruitlessly at the seat adjuster. "Sorry." He lets go of the adjuster and it releases with a pop.

"-Aaand you broke it." Tony throws his hands in the air. "Great job, now I have to explain to Happy why I'm returning his car in worse condition than when he lent it to me."

"This is Happy's car?" Steve asks incredulously.

"Yeah it is-"

"Why did you borrow-"

"So what?-"

Suddenly the comms channel crackles to life. "Mom and dad, stop bickering. We got Hamilton."

 

* * *

Thor appears in the S.H.I.E.L.D observation room while Nat is interrogating Hamilton, all-but giving everyone else a heart-attack.

"Jesus, Malibu Barbie, I have a heart condition!" Tony yells, massaging the reactor.

"Apologies, friend," Thor says with a megawatt smile. "Heimdall, the keeper of the Bifrost, keeps watch over the nine realms. He sent word to me of what has transpired here in Midgard so I came straightaway."

Clint looks to Tony and Steve questioningly. "I understood none of that."

All heads go up when Nat walks out of the S.H.I.E.L.D interrogation room. She's grinning triumphantly and doesn't even look surprised to see Thor. Suddenly the room is crackling with expectation.

"She told us where the base is."

Steve smiles. "Avengers ... Let's go."

* * *

Steve lays out the plan on the Quinjet. Thor will distract the guards and pull everyone's attention to the entrance, Steve and Tony will take out the guards on the perimeter, and Nat and Clint sneak around back to plant the explosives.

From the sound of things, Thor has his hands full as soon as they land. "Avoid the electric discs! They hurt!" he says with a grunt.

Tony hums inquisitively from his position in the sky. "Somehow I always just figured you were immune to electric shock." He spots a cluster of Hydra agents and swoops down toward them. "Cap, six guards, two o'clock."

Steve takes off for them. "Got it."

Minutes pass and the Hydra agents keep coming. "We're getting overrun in here, guys," Nat yells from over the comms. Thor rushes into the base to help, leaving Tony and Steve to deal with the horde of Hydra agents now converging on them.

"I'm kinda wishing Bruce had blown off that TED talk now," Tony says, bouncing a beam off Cap's shield to take out several surrounding guards.

"Tell me about it," Steve mutters.

"We're getting close, guys," Clint says. "Just hold on."

It's at that moment that Tony spots a large Hydra agent holding a large cylindrical object, and damn if the kid wasn't right and it looked like something straight out of Men in Black. "Steve, watch the big one. He's got the shock discs."

"I knew it would catch on!" Clint yells over the comms.

The Hydra agents are dwindling, but now their attention is split between taking them out and worrying about the near misses from discs flying treacherously close to them. There are only five agents left when the disc hits Tony. The shockwave is strong enough to make his teeth vibrate and his head spin, and instantly the Iron Man suit falls to pieces. Tony hits the ground with a grunt and tumbles upright semi-gracefully and completely unprotected.

"Shit," he mutters, but his comm link is dead so no one hears.

"Tony!" Steve shouts from a few yards away where he is fighting the big Hydra agent. "Get down!"

Tony drops instantly, feeling a whoosh of air above him as a blast from a Hydra gun just misses him. He stays in a crouch, examining his options, and sees the guard rushing at him full-force. He waits until the guard gets within arms reach and deftly rolls to the side, catching the man's legs and bringing him down. The agent's gun has flown out of his hands, and Tony grabs it from the ground, hitting the man on the head with the butt of the weapon. The agent stills, and then all of the air is knocked out of him as he is tackled to the ground by another agent. The goon is on top of him, but he kicks forcefully with both feet, throwing the man off. He gets up and places himself in fighting stance as the man pulls out a large knife. The man lunges out toward Tony, but he dodges and grabs the man's knife arm, bringing it down on his knee with a sickening snap. The man howls and drops the knife, doubling over in pain. Tony grabs the back of his head and slams it down on his knee, effectively knocking the man unconscious.

Steve is battling two Hydra agents at once, and a third is rushing towards him. Tony grabs up the gun from where it has fallen and shoots the agent just as he prepares to stab Steve from behind. There are only two agents left now, and Tony likes those odds. He breaks into a run toward Steve to help when suddenly Steve goes down. His entire body is convulsing and Tony can see the disc embedded in his neck. The large Hydra agent levels his gun at Steve and Tony lunges toward him, grabbing up Steve's shield and deflecting the blast right into the agent's chest. The man falls over and Tony remains crouched protectively over Steve, shield raised. The remaining Hydra agent charges, but Tony jumps high and brings the shield down hard, and the agent crumples to the ground.

Still panting, he runs to Steve, using the shield to pry the disc off of his neck. Steve sits up with a gasp, looking at Tony with wide eyes, and Tony helps him up, handing the shield back to him.

"Thanks," Steve says sincerely, still regarding him closely, and Tony knows it's for more than just the shield.

Tony shrugs. "No problem. That thing's really well-balanced by the way."

"Well, of course. It's Stark-made." Steve is chuckling then, and Tony feels his own face splitting into a grin.

"Charges are set. We're bugging out!" Nat yells. 

Steve grabs Tony's shoulder. "Let's go fire up the jet."

Tony slings the rifle onto his back and nods. "Lead the way."

Halfway to the jet, a Hydra agent appears out of the trees with a wild yell. In a last ditch effort, he shoots a barrage of discs towards them. Tony, who is closest, pushes Steve to the ground and Steve breathes a sigh of relief when the discs whiz above their heads. He hurls the shield at the agent and drops them. Steve grabs the shield back, and Tony is too quiet. Steve notices he is still on the ground and breaks into a run back toward him. 

Tony is curled in on himself, taking in painful gasps. "Tony, what's wrong?" he yells frantically, grabbing him and turning him over onto his back. He sees the disc embedded in Tony's chest and yanks it off with his bare hand. The reactor is flickering dangerously. For the first time, Steve can actually hear it, and it doesn't sound good. 

Tony's eyes are closed and he's gritting his teeth. Steve places one hand on his chest and the other on the side of his face. "Tony, talk to me!"

Tony is shaking his head frantically. "Not good, Steve," he gasps.

Then, the reactor goes dark. Tony arches his back and then falls back to the ground where he lies motionless.

"Nononono. Tony, come on don't do this to me. Tony!" Tony doesn't answer. Steve's blood runs cold and suddenly he hears Nat's panicked voice. "Tony?! Steve, what happened?"

"He got hit. We need to get him to S.H.I.E.L.D now," Steve hears himself saying. His heart is pounding in his ears and there is a high-pitched ringing sound building and building in his head.

"We don't have much time. I will take him," Thor says, and with that he scoops Tony up, raises his hammer, and disappears in a flash of color and light.

Steve remains on the ground until a hand lands on his shoulder. "Come on, Steve, we need to go," Clint says softly but urgently. It's not until his arm is being yanked upwards that he snaps out of it. He runs to the jet.

* * *

The flight to S.H.I.E.L.D is quiet and agonizingly slow. An agent meets them as soon as they land. "Where is he?" he asks, trying to keep the panic out of his voice and failing. The agent escorts them to the medical wing, tells them Tony is in surgery, and instructs them to sit and wait.

After about an hour, Steve slams his hand down on the table where they are seated and stalks out of the waiting room. Nat, Clint and Thor, who are all sitting with their heads in their hands, jump and watch him leave wordlessly. Nat and Clint share a knowing look. "I'll go talk to him," Nat says.

She finds him outside behind the building, seated on a wooden bench in an area that looks to be a small, utilitarian approximation of a garden. She slides wordlessly onto the bench next to him. They sit in silence, and she loses track of time after awhile, her thoughts running rampant as she is sure Steve's are.

"He's gotta make it, Nat," Steve says suddenly. His voice sounds wrecked and his eyes are red and shining. "I can't-" He stops and takes in a shuddering breath. "I can't lose him."

She places a hand on his knee. "I know, Steve. I know."

* * *

The first thing he becomes aware of is the deep aching pain in his chest. He sucks in a sharp breath with a wince.

"Tony?" says a concerned voice from somewhere beside him.

He opens his eyes, blinking away the blurriness until Steve's face comes into view. It's pinched in worry, and suddenly the events of the day come back to him.

"Steve. Did we win?" he asks.

Steve gives him a wan smile. "Yeah. We won."

Tony nods and opens his mouth to reply, but his eyes are already sliding closed of their own accord. Steve places a warm hand on Tony's arm. "You rest, Tony. I'm not going anywhere."

Steve stays. Tony sleeps.

* * *

A day later, Tony is released and Steve takes him back to the tower. The entire team is there, even Thor, who had resolved to stay until Tony was recovered.

"Hey, Stark, I heard you kicked ass with Cap's shield," Clint says when Tony makes it up to the common floor with Steve.

Tony smiles. "Yeah, kicked ass and then got my ass kicked," he says.

"You fought well, Stark. You should be proud," Thor says, thumping him hard on the back. "On my planet, warriors injured in battle are treated with a great feast once they have recovered from their wounds."

Tony smiles kindly at Thor. "I think I'll just settle for cheeseburger." Then he sees Bruce behind him, looking agitated. "Hey, Brucie. How was the TED talk?"

"Oh, it was great. And I got to find out after that my friend almost died while I was doing it. Damnit Tony, please don't do that again," he says, pulling Tony into a brief hug.

The elevator dings, and everyone turns to look. Out steps a wide-eyed Peter Parker.

"Hey, kid!" Tony says, walking to meet him at the elevator. "Hey, great job getting us that tip, we -oof!" and suddenly Peter's arms are around him hugging him tightly. 

"Mr. Stark, I didn't hear from you and I got worried so I called Happy and he said something happened and you got hurt and he tried to call the S.H.I.E.L.D people but they wouldn't tell us anything, and I-"

"Woah, woah kid hold on," Tony says pulling him off and holding him at arm's length to look at him. "I'm fine. See? I'm okay. Just got a little banged up."

Peter nods but his eyes are still too wide and full of concern. "Okay."

"Okay?"

Peter nods, a bit more sure this time.

"Alright," Tony says, putting an arm around the kid's shoulders and guiding him back to the elevator. "Now, let me take you down to the workshop for a second. I've got something I've been working on for the your suit..."

When the doors ding closed, Steve looks around and notices everyone is smiling. "Tony Stark, good with kids. Who'd'a thought?" Clint says, shaking his head.

"I pegged it," Nat says confidently.

"You did not."

"I definitely did."

They exchange more banter, but Steve stops listening because that warm feeling is growing in his chest again, glowing so bright it's almost painful.

* * *

An hour later when Steve can stand it no longer, he heads down to the workshop. Tony is saying goodbye to Peter when he gets there, but he pauses when he sees Steve. Their eyes meet briefly. He turns back to Peter. "Hey, kid, have you met Captain America, the paragon of patriotism and living embodiment of liberty and justice?"

The kid's mouth drops open and he shakes his head. "Woah, no. Hey, man, uh, hey."

"Hey, kid. Good work getting that intel. We couldn't've found that Hydra base without you," Steve says, shaking the kid's hand.

"Uh, yeah, no problem. Glad I could help." The kid turns back to Tony reluctantly. "I should go. My Aunt May's gonna kill me if I miss dinner again."

Tony smiles and pats the kid on the shoulder. "Alright, kid, get outta here. I'll cover for you; just tell her you were working late on an SI project."

"Okay, thanks, Tony. See ya," the kid calls, jogging for the door.

Steve chuckles. "Seems like a good kid."

"Yeah. He's from your neck of the woods, you know. Queens."

"Guess I won't hold it against him," Steve says lightheartedly. Then more seriously, "You're good with him, Tony."

Tony shrugs.

"You care about him."

Tony winces and looks up at him. "Is it that obvious?"

Steve smiles. "Yeah. It's a good look on you."

Tony turns to grab up a handful of tools to put away, but Steve sees the hint of a smile at those words. The bright, warm something in his chest hurts now, and he can't avoid the topic any longer.

"Tony, promise me you won't sacrifice yourself for me again."

Tony looks startled. "What?"

Steve sighs and pulls a hand frustratedly through his hair. "You almost died saving me again."

Tony's eyes narrow. "Are we really back on this, Steve? I thought we settled this. I'm gonna do what I have to do to protect the people I care about."

Steve is shaking his head and he knows his eyes are red and glassy. "I can't lose you, Tony," he says, and he sounds devastated.

For once, Tony Stark is shocked into silence. He stares at Steve as if he's never seen him before. Steve walks toward him. "I've been miserable for weeks. I didn't know what was wrong with me. Sometimes all I wanted to do was be around you and sometimes you made me so goddamn angry I could barely look at you." He's so close to Tony now that their chests are almost touching. He leans his head down closer. "And then, the other night, it just hit me, and I realized-"

"-Stop," Tony warms, holding up a hand. It's shaking. He backs away from Steve. "Don't do this to me, Rogers."

"Do what, Tony?"

Tony lets out a ragged, frustrated breath and points a finger at Steve. "You know what. I care too damn much about you. We can't do this. If we did this, and I lost you ... it would kill me."

"Tony," Steve starts, stepping toward him. Tony backs away again, a look of panic and desperation on his face. Steve stops, not wishing to back him into a corner. "Tony, I almost lost you at that Hydra base. I know the feeling. But ... I don't want to push away the people I love because I'm scared of losing them."

Tony's hands are on his knees now. His eyes are shut tight, as if trying to block Steve out. "God, Rogers, do not give me that 'better to have loved and lost than to never have loved' bullshit. We CANNOT do this." He straightens up and looks at Steve dead-on. "Don't you think I've thought about it? Loving you puts you and everyone else I care about at risk. What if I let my feelings get in the way during a fight and make a bad call? What if someone finds out about how I feel and hurts you to get to me? I can't ... let myself go there."

"Tony, don't you think I've thought about this, too? I'm a strategist. I think about all the options, it's what I do. And loving you is no longer an option I have, it just  _is._ It's already happened, and I can't change that. So no matter what we do, I'll always have those feelings. But I'll tell you what you told me when we watched 'Rocky' that night.  _You make me want to be better._ Loving you hasn't hurt me, Tony. It's only made me better. And you're right, someone would try to use our relationship against us. But how we feel about each other, as far as I'm concerned, can stay between you and me. No one else has to know, if you don't want them to. We don't even have to tell the team about it. And if any other problems come up, we'll face them together, like we always do."

And oh, Tony wants to believe him so bad, but the pain in his chest starts again, reminding him of the recent trauma his body has experienced. He places a hand over the reactor and sways. Steve's arms are surrounding him before his knees buckle, and Steve's voice cuts through the low hum of pain thrumming in his ears. "Tony?! Shit. Tony, come on talk to me, what's wrong?" The arms around him draw him in tight and he feels inexplicably safe here.

"I'm fine," he rasps. "Just- tired. Probably should lay down." The arms tense around him and Steve must know it's serious if Tony Stark is admitting that he needs rest. 

"Okay. Come on, let's get you to bed," Steve says quietly.

Steve walks him to his room, arm around his waist, supporting him so gently he could cry. Steve helps him to the bed and when Tony sits, he stands frozen in place, unsure of what to do. Tony curls into a ball, hand pressed to his chest, and that seems to push Steve into action. He kneels by the bed, level with Tony's face, and regards him with concern.

"Tony," he says in nearly a whisper, as if afraid Tony will break if he speaks too loudly. "Are you okay? What can I do? I want to help," he says earnestly. It's enough to cause Tony's throat to tighten up, and a different ache to spread through his chest. 

"Just ... stay with me," he whispers back. 

Wordlessly, Steve stands up and walks out of view. Then, Tony feels the bed dip as Steve slides in behind him and slots himself up against Tony's back. He wraps an arm around Tony, resting his hand against the arc reactor, and Tony feels the tension slowly melt from his body as the warmth seeps through to his core. It feels safe and so right, and he lets out a shaky sigh as he reaches up to place his hand over Steve's.

"Did you mean it, what you said, about us?"

Steve slides impossibly closer against him. "Every word."

Tony grips the hand tighter. "Okay."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is definitely not my usual thing, but there it is!


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